


I'd Give the Audience a Good Show

by May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (bloodofpyke)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/May%20the%20Odds%20Be%20Ever%20in%20Your%20Favor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clove (the District Two female tribute), up until and through her Games</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Give the Audience a Good Show

She was two, and learning how to walk, how to talk. Her searching hands grasped a knife and giggling, she threw it, clapping to see it soar through the air and stick in the wall. Her parents exchanged glances and smiled, hands clasped and squeezing. _Yes,_ their eyes seemed to say.

She was seven, and running, already running faster than the other kids. She could dodge and roll as easily as breathing, and still throw her knives, points deadened for play, smiling to see the impact. She learned the word “glory,” learned the idea of winning, and seared them into her brain.

She was twelve, and shifting her weight from foot to foot, craning her neck to see over heads. _This is it,_ she told herself, hands smoothing down her dress, her best dress. _Get ready, this is it._ Her breath caught as the woman in all pink reached in and held up a slip of paper. _This is it. This is it. This is it._ The words became a chant, matching the rhythm of her fidgeting. A name was called and it took her a moment to realize that that name wasn’t hers. Disappointment pierced her heart, the smile died down.

She was fourteen, and had already forgotten how to smile. Sweat dripped from her brow and she blinked, stunned by the sting of it. She shook her head, swept her hair back, and forced herself to concentrate. Knives stuck in the ground beside her, her hands went to work on a makeshift shelter, on tying knots, on starting a fire. She stepped back and surveyed her work, a faint note of pride on her face. She picked up her knives, and sat, back against a tree, bark digging into her spine. _This year is the one._

She was seventeen, and sick of it all. She threw herself into training now, until the ache of her muscles no longer mattered, until she felt stretched thin to the point of breaking. She lined up with the other girls, hair escaping from the ribbon her mother had so carefully tied in. She had squeezed her hand this morning, her mother, smiling gently as if to say _this year is the one, I know it is._ She wasn’t so certain, hadn’t been since she was twelve. The woman in all pink unfolded a slip of paper and shouted a name for all to hear, a smile unfolding on those pink lips. “Clove! The female District Two tribute is Clove!”

She was seventeen, and dying. Her feet dangled a foot off the ground, and she could hear her own voice, terrified and pleading. Her green eyes were wide as the rock came into view, smashing into her skull. Her last thoughts were _I was so close, so close._ Then, darkness.


End file.
